


E1: Pilot

by Legacy_Writer



Series: Supernatural: Legacy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:25:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legacy_Writer/pseuds/Legacy_Writer
Summary: The first in a series of stories about two young hunters, set in the SPN universe, following in the footsteps of Sam & Dean Winchester.
Series: Supernatural: Legacy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560724
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Mt St Helens Nathional Forest, Washington State. October, 2023

The woods slowly grew quiet, a wave of frightened hush emanating in all directions, a shockwave of silence rolling outward from a single point as every animal, bird, and insect for a square mile either hid or fled. A twisted figure rose up from its crouched and troubled slumber at the core of the unnatural quiet. Hungering, it cocked its head strangely on its sinewy neck, detecting a low sound in the near distance. Something in the forest was blissfully unaware of the predator hunting under the midnight sky. The creature sniffed the cool night air, steam rising from its blunt nostrils. Spurred on by the hollow rumble in its gut the thing stalked out on two horrific legs, swimming through a sea of moonlight and shadows, homing in on the only living thing in the forest foolish enough to be noisy.

The tent rustled again, the sharp pitch of nylon and soft crunch of pine needles harmonizing with the sounds of muffled giggles and sighs. Jenn thought she heard something outside, a stealthy thud, but it was hard to tell for sure with Jason moaning in her ear. What he was doing was infinitely more interesting than anything happening outside, and she quickly fell back into the rhythm of lovemaking, her eyes closing, her warm hands kneading Jason's back and hips.

The sharp snap of a branch startled Jenn again. She opened her eyes just in time to see a large, gnarled shadow slip quickly past the tent. She gripped Jason's shoulders and shook him. "There's something out there," she gasped in his ear, shaking all over and wondering why she hadn't purchased any bear spray from the Spring Camping Essentials display at the sporting goods store along with her hiking poles and sunscreen.

"It's probably just a raccoon or something," Jason sighed, aching to get back to fooling around. He stroked Jenn's hair and kissed her forehead. This was only their second camping trip as a couple, and Jason knew Jenn had little experience with the outdoors. Every natural night sound had scared her last time, too.

"What if it's a bear?" she whispered, still trembling.

"I doubt it's a bear," he reassured her.

"Or a cougar..."

"I brought a shotgun. It's ok."

Jenn remained frozen, listening, her fear magnifying every sound; the whisper of wind through the trees, the rustle of the sleeping bag as Jason shifted his weight, the ragged breathing just outside the tent wall.

Jason kissed Jenn's forehead again and unzipped their shared sleeping bag.

"I'll go scare the little guy off before he gets into our stuff," he said, grabbing and switching on the flashlight. "But when I get back you better still be na-"

The top of the tent sheared open like tissue paper. Jason was snatched up and out by an unseen force, violently ripped through the trees, his gurgling screams echoing off the dark trunks, punctuated by the thrashing beam of the flashlight fading deeper into the woods.

Jenn screamed for what felt like a cold eternity, but was, in fact, mere moments before the monster returned for her. A sharp blow to the head and she fell as silent as the darkness around them.


	2. Chapter 2

Music cue: Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival

The bike rolled through the curves of the sun dappled mountain road like an old pro. A vintage 70's Honda Rebel, dull black and riddled with the scuffs and scars of a life hard ridden, a legacy of too many hand downs, trades, and rebuilds to count. The bike had seen more ass than an old rockstar, been known by more names than the Devil , and had covered more miles than its young rider could imagine.

Lucas pulled into the gravel parking lot of the trail head, looking around through the polarized tint of his visor, carefully observing the scene as he parked the bike casually. Several dusty cars and compact SUVs were clustered toward the front of the lot, nearly all sporting a least one decal that boasted the owners' outdoor enthusiasm. They were most likely the day use crowd, picnickers and short trail hikers out for some fresh air and a spectacular view of the slumbering volcano, eager to explore the newly opened section of the Mt. St. Helens National Monument. In the shade at the back of the parking lot he spotted what he was looking for, sitting glaringly between a classic Dodge 2-door that may have been some shade of blue beneath its blanket of road dust and sporty orange late model Jeep whose off-road tires had never touched anything other than pavement, was a VW van spray painted in a camouflage mosaic of forest greens and browns, covered in what looked like every Bigfoot believer bumper sticker ever made, "Sasquatch Safari" emblazoned across the side in thick lettering designed to look furry.

"Yep," he muttered to himself with a slow shake of his head. "These guys are gonna get eaten."

Lucas dug through his rugged backpack, withdrew a Bigfoot decal, and reluctantly slapped it onto the scuffed and dented side of his otherwise black bike.

"Sorry, darlin'," he cooed as he pulled off his helmet, revealing short cropped, dark hair. "We're undercover this weekend."

He slung is pack over one shouler and strode across the parking lot toward the ranger station office.

Ranger Watson watched, unmipressed, as the broad-shouldered young biker approached the office, hoping the slow-burning irritation he felt at the influx of thrill-seekers and conspiracy nuts didn't show on his leathery face. This kid, in his thrift store leather jacket and his black cargo work pants did not look like anyone who belonged anywhere near the woods.

"Can I buy a forest pass here?" Lucas inquired with an authentic charm that came so naturally to him he rarely even noticed it, wth a laid back, easy smile that calmed the energy in any room.

"Yup," Ranger Watson replied, somewhat won over by this biker kid, who looked more like a black-clad bear snack than a hiker, but so many nuts had shown up since the Bigfoot nonsense had picked up he was no longer surprised by the folks showing up these days.

"Must be a busy weekend, the grand re-opening of this section of trail," Lucas offered, studying every map and information poster hung on the walls while the ranger worked on the parking pass transaction. "It's been closed for a long time, right?"

"Since the eruption in 1980. This area was hit hard and took a long time to bounce back. A group of hikers was lost when the mountain blew, and the Forest Service was hoping the remains would evetually be recovered before officially reopening the trail, but that didn't happen. It's been unofficially open since early spring, though, but not used much."

"A couple of hikers disappeared out there recently, didn't they? About a month ago?"

A long suffering sigh escaped Watson as he hung his head for a moment. "Son, no one was eaten by a damn Bigfoot. People think they know what they're doing in the wilderness and get in over their heads. A couple of kids did get lost, but they didn't tell anyone exactly where they were going and they didn't apply for a camping pass, so no one knows exactly where on this mountain they went, and she's a big mountain."

Lucas leaned against the counter. "You're not a 'Squatch believer?" he asked with a playful grin. He decided to hold off asking about the three other disappearances, two Forest Service employees and a backpacker, that had occurred since the new trail construction began a just over year ago.

Watson slid the pass over to Lucas. "I've been doing this for 35 years and I've seen some shit you wouldn't believe. But there's no Bigfoot or Sasquatch or Yeti or whatever the kids are calling it these days. And this Bigfoot hunt shindig is ridiclous, just folks trying to make a quick buck. Now, you may see something this weekend," he said with a sly grin, nodding his head toward the window and the small group of pretty young women chatting out in the parking lot. "But it ain't gonna be a Bigfoot. I hope you brought protection," he added with a wink.

"Of course," Lucas replied, returning the ranger's grin. He patted the zipped front compartment of his pack. Watson nodded approvingly . Lucas extended his fist to Watson, who awkwardly met it with his own, Lucas making sure the large, pure silver ring he wore on the third finger of his right hand made solid contact with the ranger's leathery skin. There was no reaction. One suspect down, a dozen to go.

Lucas draped his leather jacket over the seat of his bike. It was a weathered black and had a small, ragged hole in the back left shoulder that Lucas strongly believed was a bullet hole. The jacket had come with the bike, and Lucas thought if both bike and jacket had survived the shot they must be lucky. To date, both had seen him through some tough scrapes and close calls. He quickly stripped down to the dark gray hiking shorts and black V-neck T-shirt he had worn under his riding gear, swapping his motorcycle boots for a pair of well-worn hiking boots.

At 24 years old, Lucas had been hunting long enough to be familiar with the distinct sensation of being watched. He glanced upward, keeping his head down, otherwise busy with his task as he surveyed the parking lot. His eyes caught the sunlight flash from a pair of silver avaiator sunglasses.

She was leaned back against the trunk of her dusty old Dodge, her long, athletic legs crossed comfortably at the ankle, a ponytail of deep gold and caramel hair shifting restlessly in the breeze behind her. Dressed in khaki shorts, a forest green and black plaid flannel shirt over a white tank top, and rugged boots, she looked the part of a day hiker, though at first sight Lucas got the impression that she would be the last person on this Sasquatch Safari weekend he would have to rescue from the clutches of a beast.

Rachel watched Lucas change. Tall, sun-kissed, built well enough to make one almost believe in divine engineering, he went from biker to hiker in a matter of minutes, and might easily pass for one of the casual outdoorsmen here for a weekend of bumbling cryptozoology and scaring girls into adrenaline-fueled make-outs. He moved too cautiously, was too observant, and lacked the high energy excitement shared by the rest of the gatherng group of Bigfoot seekers. Rachel smirked to herself. She knew a hunter when she saw one.

Lucas threw his pack over one shoulder and crosed the parking lot. Rachel watched his approach with guarded curiosity.

"I'm Lucas," he said, offering his hand. His brown eyes were as dark as a moonless night, and his smile the starlight to match, but she was wary of hunters, especially such confident ones.

"Rachel," she replied, pushing up her sunglasses. She had a firm handshake and Lucas suspected she was much stronger than she looked, likely a college athlete in multiple sports. He wondered how many dudes' asses she had kicked on the basketball court or soccer field. He felt her sizing him up with her devastatinly bright eyes, all golds and greens like an autumn sunrise, a faint dusting of freckles across her nose. There was something about her, something intriguing he couldn't quite put his finger on, other than the fact she was beautiful, she seemed familiar somehow, as though he had always known her. If he hadn't been on a hunt he would have offered her his number. Maybe, after he put this monster down, he would.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the Sasquatch Safari van and small gathering of Bigfoot enthusiasts.

"My name is Mike, and I will be your guide this weekend. For your safety I must insist that you listen to my instructions at all times. I am an expert 'Squatch hunter, I have had many close encounters with the creature itself, and I am a survival expert."

The middle-aged man spoke confidently, his voice strong and unwavering. He dressed as though he wore only clothing marketed as "tactical," and his gear matched the asthetic. Two younger men stood behind him, nodding in agreement with the man who was clearly their father, and addressed the gathering of campers with a quick wave after being introduced as Mike's co-guides, David and Justin.

Lucas glanced toward Rachel, who stood by his side. She met his eyes, wrinkled her nose. She wasn't buying any of this speech, either. There was a very real threat out there, waiting for nightfall, for the moon to rise, and this group had no idea what they were walking into.

"The area we are traveling to is currently a hotspot for 'Squatch sightings and activity. I can guarantee you will have an encounter this weekend, be it a sighting or an evidence collection or maybe even a face to face meeting with the creature itself. Whatever happens in those woods, you will walk out a believer."

Rachel shifted her weight restlessly, rolling her shoulders beneath the straps of her framed backpack. Mike seemed to believe what he was saying. He likely had no idea he was leading this group of forest tourists into danger. He was sharing what he thought of as expert knowledge, and, judging by the cost of the tickets for this event, making enough money to further his Bigfoot research enterprise. With several more weekend camping events booked over the next few months he was clearly serious about the cryptid business.

Lucas felt Rachel tense beside him. A guarantee of a cryptid sighting was a tall order, especially since there was no such thing as Bigfoot. The creature that had been sighted in this patch of deep forest was deadly, anything but a shy hominid giant, and it was likely already in their midst. The more Mike lectured on about this little weekend excursion the more it sounded like a set-up for slaughter. Lucas would have to get him alone, preferably sooner than later, and make solid contact with his silver ring. He would be ready to follow up with a bullet between the eyes. If Mike proved to be human, and Lucas knew there was a chance he was just an overzealous cryptozoologist, he knew he would have to lure each of the sons away from the group to see if one, or both, might be a hungry creature with a taste for human flesh. Either way, he would be prepared to kill it, dispose of it, and get the hell out of there before anyone could start asking questions.

Rachel watched Lucas from the corner of her eye, trying to read him. He was attractive and put others at ease, but hunters were dangerous animals themselves, so she chose to keep her distance. As they gathered up their gear and began their trek into the forest she found Lucas by her side once more, his arm extended behind her in a coaxing, protective gesture. She let him bring up the rear, trusting him more than she knew she should. She tuned out Mike's lecturing and focused on the sounds of the forest, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

Lucas wasn't sure why Rachel tried to fall in behind, but he needed to be in the back so he could keep an eye on everyone in the group, both for their own protection and his. Should his target prove to be someone outside the group he was in the most vulnerable position for attack, and likely the only one capable of fighting it off. It also meant he was out of sight of the group for the majority of the trek. When the monster was ready to show itself, and he killed it, his minimal exposure to the others would make him harder to describe to the authorities. Monster hunting was a vital job to the survival of humans, but not recognized by law enforcement, who would not see the monster itself but only the person or persons he had killed. It was a grueling, bloody, thankless job, and he wouldn't want it any other way. It defined who he was and had since childhood, although he specialized in ghosts more than monsters. Still, he had ganked his share of vamps, witches, and creepy crawlies left behind by the old gods. He would rid the world of the werewolf preying on hikers here easily enough, slip Rachel his number, and disappear down the road before he was caught.


	3. Chapter 3

They pushed deeper into the thickening green corridor of the trail. Lucas kept a sharp eye on each member of their party, as well as scanning the trees on either side for any threats. He noticed Rachel fall back a few times, slyly, slowing her pace just enough for the group to trek ahead of her. Each time Lucas fell in beside her, offering an outstretched arm to guide her back in with the others until she finally cleared some distance ahead of him, finding her way to chat with the other girls. He was determined to remain at the rear of the group, the position from which he could best protect everyone and avoid distraction, though he found himself wondering if Rachel just wanted to be near him.

Rachel was uncomfortable having anyone on her six, especially a damn hunter. In a group this large she would be much happier covering the back, with eyes on everyone, and no surprises sneaking up from behind. Each attempt to position herself was met by Lucas, always swooping in, tending her back into the herd like a lost calf. She was getting irritated with him, but, not ready to show her hand, she smiled politely in thanks and jogged up ahead to the clique of girls to mingle in and fold into their ranks. At 20 years old, Rachel had spent the first half of her life as the shining star of her mother's world, and the other half learning to disappear, fade into the background, to hide in plain sight.

Less than two miles in more people joined the safari. An older couple, pleasantly weathered and carrying the pungent aromas of patchouli and marijuana, caught up to them with only mild respiratory distress and beads of sweat despite the crisp chill of early fall. Behind them lumbered an awkward young man sporting a Bigfoot t-shirt with matching ball cap and the pasty complexion of a person who spends little time in the outdoors. A comfortable warmth rolled off of Lucas that drew people to him like tides to the moon, and here it was no different as he greeted the newcomers, asked a few friendly questions about the Bigfoot sightings in the area, then allowed them to go ahead of him on the trail.

Although his cool demeanor was impeccable, the back of Lucas's neck had broken a sweat. More people on the hike meant more people to protect, more people to save, and the group was already larger than he had expected. Another thought occurred to him as they hiked further into the lush forest; natural wolves generally travelled in packs. Werewolves often did the same, forming a monstrous perversion of a family unit, when a lone wolf either hooked up with others or simply handpicked and transformed his new family members in brutal, often fatal, assaults. It was quite possible that Sasquatch Mike and both his sons were behind the sightings and disappearances. Lucas quickly shrugged off his doubts. The Beretta concealed in the front pouch of his backpack was holding 12 .40 caliber rounds of pure silver, more than enough for three perfectly placed kill shots and maybe even a double-tap for style.

At the five mile mark they stopped to rest for a few minutes, and several people went off trail in search of a private spot to relieve themselves. Lucas caught Rachel giving him a long look before she walked away in the company of a very young girl. Her eyes piercing, her soft lips parted slightly as though she had something on her mind and the tip of her tongue. Her lingering stare made his gut flutter.

"At this point we are leaving the main trail, and will be taking the Eastern Ridge spur to our base camp," Mike narrated, both to the campers and his phone. A not-yet-famous YouTube vlogger, Sasquatch Mike ran a disorganized channel full of his questionable survival expertise as well as his personal opinions on a plethora of poorly researched theories about cryptids. This so-called investigative safari would be part of an upcoming installment "proving" the existence of Bigfoot. There was also the possibility that Mike and his boys had lead all these people out here to the middle of nowhere to join their family, building their own private army of like-minded super soldiers.

Lucas chuckled to himself. He may have spent a few too many late nights researching Mike's channel.

"We'll do some 'Squatch calling tonight, see if we get a response. In the morning we will investigate the area, hike deeper in to collect samples like hair or scat. I feel confident we will recover solid evidence of the creature's existence," Mike rambled on into his phone.

Rachel walked into the woods with Chloe, her new friend who, at 14, was too young to be out here, but her parents had sent her along as a chaperone for her older sister, who was already off screwing her less-than-chivalrous boyfriend about a mile or so back. Rachel had few soft spots, but Chloe's look of uncomfortable abandonment touched one. Rachel kept her close by her side, and when they stopped for a relief break Rachel went with Chloe so she would feel safe in the dark tangle of trees. She kept one keen eye on her young friend, and one on the boy hunter, who was intriguing in a way she didn't quite understand. She drank in his movements, the way his dark eyes scanned their surroundings, keeping a constant headcount, marking every spot where someone stepped off trail. He was looking, listening, his brow furrowed, his cockiness tucked away when he didn't know he was being watched. She thought if the circumstances had been different maybe, just maybe, they might have been friends. Their eyes met and his expression changed. She had caught him off guard. She liked that.

Located three more miles up the spur, the base camp had been set up in advance in a cramped meadow. It consisted of a rough fire pit ringed with logs for sitting, a large command tent, and two extra large military-style common tents, one for men and one for women, although all participants had been welcome to bring their own tents if they wished. Day was already fading into twilight when they arrived. Lucas walked the perimeter while Mike's boys built a roaring fire and the other campers got comfortable for the evening. The haphazard arrangement of tents, the wild thickness of the tree line, the uneven terrain and blind spots everywhere unnerved Lucas, who was slowly realizing he may be in over his head with this hunt.

Lucas stowed his pack in the men's common tent, checked that the Beretta was locked and loaded, tucked it in the back of his shorts, pulled on a thick black hoodie and made his way to the ring for a campfire dinner and ghost stories. He sat across from Rachel by coincidence. He found himself mesmerized by the firelight dancing in her eyes. He saw the way Chloe leaned into her for warmth and comfort and was almost envious.

"Two separate hiking groups were lost up here when the volcano erupted in 1980," Mike began in a deep, storyteller's voice, addressing the circle of eager Bigfoot hunters, while Justin filmed him with his phone. "No one knows for sure if they perished in the blast or were trapped and later died of starvation or exposure. There are those who believe the restless spirits of those men still haunt this forest, and think the unnatural sounds heard up here on certain nights are their ghostly cries for help. But we know better. People have been sneaking up here for years, and what they have heard is the distinct call of a Sasquatch. What they have seen running through the trees is a Sasquatch. We're going to try calling one in now."

Lucas smiled when he saw Rachel raise a skeptical eyebrow. She leaned down closer to Chloe, who was speaking to her in a hushed voice as silence fell over the camp, the dim of voices replaced by a palpable anticipation.

"I don't like this," Chloe whispered, too creeped out to sit still.

"It's ok," Rachel reassured. "These guys are gonna make some gorilla noises, make asses of themselves, and then we'll roast marshmallows."

"You don't believe in Bigfoot?"

"Not even a little."

"Then why are you here?"

"Rachel's eyes drifted up to Lucas as she replied, "I like the scenery."

Mike cleared his throat dramatically and belted out an ear-splitting howl.

Lucas wrinkled his nose at the sound. Chloe jumped. Rachel narrowed her eyes.

Mike let loose again with his Bigfoot cry several more times before falling silent. Everyone listened to the sounds of night. When the elusive animal failed to return the call he tried a few more times. Again, no response. Camp life resumed as people began chatting, getting to know each other, sharing their tall tales.

Chatting with the older hippie couple, Larry and Diane, Lucas glanced at Rachel and immediately saw something he didn't like. She was looking up, watching the sky. His stomach dropped. The moon hadn't risen yet, but Rachel was watching the Eastern sky, gazing through the swaying treetops. The pistol suddenly felt very cold against the small of his back.

No, no, no, he thought. Please no, not her.

Lucas began to sweat despite the chill of nightfall, his palms clammy, his heart in his throat. He watched the sky as well, swallowing hard as the silvery moonlight reached its ghostly fingers through the trees. The moon shouldn't be entirely full until tomorrow night, but he had heard rumors that a waxing gibbous within a day of full could be enough to trigger transformation within some bloodlines. He flexed his hands, desperate to alleviate the sudden icy numbness spreading through them. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

He looked back across the fire. Rachel was gone. Chloe sat alone, fidgeting anxiously, on the log they had shared only moments ago. Moonlight cascaded over the camp. Lucas waited, his nervous system on red alert, his heart pounding in his chest.

Chloe suddenly got up and walked nervously away from camp.

A burning chunk of wood popped loudly, sending a fine shower of embers into the cold, damp air. The sound echoed against the trees. Beneath the echo Lucas heard another sound from the black depths of the tree line. A branch had cracked under the weight of something large. He stared, his human eyes nearly blind in the dark spaces around them compared to those of the predator he knew was watching him back. Another crack. It was on the move, circling the camp slowly. Stalking.

Lucas heard another crack and rustle, just barely above the white noise of so many conversations. He stood, appearing to stretch his legs as he prepared to run something down.

From the farthest side of the meadow Chloe began to scream.


	4. Chapter 4

"Who are you, really?" Lucas asked, taking a sip of his beer. He sat close beside Rachel on a mossy log, their knees almost touching, speaking in the hushed tones of a private conversation. The earlier excitement had long since died down, and Chloe, along with her big sister and a few others, were already sleeping off the day's hike in their respective group tents. The Sasquatch boys had stoked the fire back up to a comforting roar and brought out the first beer cooler of the weekend, packed with ice and a variety of regional microbrews, while Mike opened a clear bottle of harder fare. Lucas, his anger now overshadowed by his curiosity, had grabbed a couple of bottles, offering one to this intriguing girl in the hopes they might become friends.

"Rachel," she replied coolly, her pretty smirk giving nothing away but her playful nature. "I believe we've met," she added.

Lucas snorted softly, looked back to the fire. She was not going to make this easy. That was okay, though. He loved a challenge, a mystery, a good hunt. He had not become the man he is without facing a few challenges, many of them deadly, or without developing a keen skill for unravelling the mysterious. Hunting spirits was a harrowing art form, and Lucas was a fine artist.

"You stole my gun-"

"I returned it."

"You borrowed my gun," he continued. "Did you see something out there, when you were in the trees?" He sipped his beer, quietly watching her, reading her, not ready to push just yet. He understood by the fact she allowed him to sit so close, close enough to feel each other's body heat, that while she may not yet trust him on any deep level, she recognized him as one of the good guys.

Rachel took a long swallow. She was really starting to like this one, against her better judgement. His presence was comforting, a rare touch of warmth in the rambling cold of her solitary life. "You're running around with a gun shoved down the back of your pants. That's a good way to find yourself disarmed by a stranger." She took another drink. "It's also a good way to shoot yourself in the ass," she added, not without a hint of laughter.

Lucas nodded. "Ok, fair enough. But, how did you even know it was there?"

"A better question would be 'why was it there?' Not many folks go hiking with guns tucked in the their pants." She dragged out the last sentence, looking into his eyes as she said it, purposefully baiting him, studying his reaction.

Lucas took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, his blood warmed by the fire and beer. "Rachel, I hunt things. Supernatural things. All the bad, scary things that go bump in the night." He kept his voice low and steady, trying not to be distracted by the sharp gaze of her golden green eyes that felt like it carved through his rugged exterior to his very soul. "Vampires, ghouls, ghosts, they're all real, and they can be very dangerous. They can hurt people. They can kill. I hunt them down and destroy them. I'm here because I think there is something out there right now, watching us, stalking this camp. It's killed people already, and I'm here to kill it before it can hurt anyone else."

Rachel watched his dark eyes carefully as he spoke. If she hadn't already known the truth she would believe it now. There was an authenticity to him, an innocence. He was truly one of the good guys. For now, at least. The hunting life had a way of ruining souls, laying waste to innocent lives, and making monsters of men. Or slaughtering them.

"What...," she paused, choosing her words and her tone carefully, not ready to give herself away. "What do you think is out there?"

Lucas swallowed hard, his gut tightening. "All the signs point to a werewolf," he confided in low tones, leaning in close, the firelight igniting the deep darkness of his eyes. "It could be out there now or it could be someone in this group. When it attacks, and it will attack, I'm betting on tomorrow night when the full moon peaks, I'll be ready. Just get down and stay down. I won't let anything happen to you."

Rachel opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a sudden stomach-churning howl. Lucas tensed at her side, his blood running cold as the howl repeated, the unfamiliar sound ricocheting off the trees surrounding them, muddling the origin of the bizarre call. Rachel placed her hand on Lucas's knee, squeezing just enough to release a flurry of butterflies through his gut. He looked to her. She nodded toward the far side of the fire, where Sasquatch Mike sat telling his tall tales to the small, rapt audience. David sat to his left, but the spot that had been occupied earlier by Justin was now empty. Lucas narrowed his eyes and nodded to Rachel. She had caught on right away. Justin had slipped away out of sight, presumably under the guise of taking a piss, and was lurking in the dark, belting out alleged Bigfoot calls. Lucas played it cool over the fact that her hand was still on his knee.

Mike had just launched into his impresario pitch about this being the safari's first evidence of Bigfoot when the guttural howls devolved into blood curdling shrieks. Mike failed out of his camping chair and froze as the agonized, panicked screams circled the clearing rapidly, much faster than any person could run through the choking tangle of trees and brush.

Lucas rose quickly, pulling out the Beretta as the screaming intensified to a frantic pitch, keeping it low but preparing to open fire. Rachel drew her long machete, the orange and yellow light flaring off the freshly sharpened blade, and stood back to back with Lucas.

Justin's shrieks echoed throughout the clearing, moving inhumanly fast and high, then abruptly stopped. Everyone stood in terrified silence. The night was a soundless vacuum, leaving them only the thunder of of their heartbeats and the crackling pops of the campfire.

"Justin?" Mike finally called into the oppressive darkness, his voice strained and thin. The reply was the rustle and snap of branches as something was lobbed at the campers. It landed with a hard, wet thud at the furthest edge of the ring of firelight. Lucas did not need to look to know what it was, nor did Rachel, but two thoroughly buzzed young men approached the long, lumpish thing with a crude mix of morbid curiosity and the stupid bravery granted by the volume of alcohol they had consumed this evening.

The arm had been ripped from Justin's body without ceremony or grace, left ragged and sloppy, bone jutting from the mangled stump, hot blood spreading across the dirt.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a beat of stunned silence. A shockwave of terror washed over the campers, and all hell broke loose. Taking advantage of the screaming chaos, the creature ran boldly through the middle of the camp, snatching up the first person it encountered by the throat with a large, gnarled claw. It tucked its shrieking prize up close to its gaunt torso and continued its inhuman stride deep into the trees, snapping the man's neck as it ran toward its reeking den.

Campers inadvertently blinded each other as a dozen flashlight beams waved frantically in every direction, shining into each other's eyes as much as the trees. David emerged from the command tent with a 12 gauge shotgun, firing two shots in opposite directions, shooting into the misty darkness without a visual on his target. He shouted something unintelligible, he voice cracking in his blacked out state of horror and grief, and began shooting at random, pausing only to reload, as his father sank to his knees nearby, eyes locked unblinking on the severed arm.

Rachel and Lucas both dropped to the ground when David opened fire, their eyes meeting, a look exchanged between them. Lucas caught the flash of yellow eyes in his far periphery, too late to react to the creature's charge. The thing was tall and twisted like an old lightning-scarred tree, reaching out for him with hunger burning in its eyes. Still crouched down he turned toward it, and saw Rachel run, focused and unshaken, behind it, the blade of her machete catching the firelight as she slashed through the back of the monster's sinewy thigh. It skidded and spun, howling in pain, throwing its freakishly long arm out at her. The creature backhanded her, connecting sharply with her jaw, throwing her off her feet. She landed several feet away, face down in the dirt and motionless.

"No!" Lucas shouted. The monster whipped back around to face him, a whispery, guttural growl escaping its gaping jaws. Lucas stared up at it, heart pounding harder as he realized this hairless, gnarled thing could not be a werewolf. It came for him lighting quick, painfully spitirting him away into the woods against a backdrop of screams and shotgun blasts.

Lucas fell limp, choking back the pain of the creature's taloned grip and the sharp impact of branches snapping against his skin, buying himself a few moments of time to figure out what the hell he was up against. The thing had the loamy odor of forest floor rot. It felt withered and cold, and was shockingly powerful. Lucas was not a small man yet it toted him like a rag doll through the dense brush. He needed to get a better look at it.

Suddenly Lucas was slammed down onto the smooth, damp rocks of the creature's lair, a natural hollow in a sheer stone cliff, knocking the wind out of him. He felt the heavy presence of cooling flesh beside him. In the path of cold, clear moonlight he was able to make out the two dead bodies he had been unceremoniously throw down beside.

The creature was hunched down on all fours, far too tall to stand in the low rocky shelter, sniffing the two dead men as well as a scattering of animal carcasses, all in various stages of decomposition. It settled on the body closest to Lucas, and tore into it with ravenous abandon. It was starvation incarnate, its lanky body emaciated and darkened by exposure, its leathery skin stretched taut over twisted bones. It sucked down the torn flesh and punctured organs, barely chewing, each bolus visibly stretching its gaunt throat. The wet sucking and ragged, choking breath echoed in Lucas's ears. He slowly pulled the pistol up from his side, keeping a watchful eye on the blood soaked monster as it ripped apart the body beside him, showering him with gore.

The creature halted with a snort, mid-chew, its large eyes flashed to him. Lucas took his chance, rolling toward the dead man and swinging his leg up, kicked the bloody creature in the face, knocking it back. He drew his aim on it as it sprung back at him, its wide jaws unhinged, coiled up to strike. Lucas fired a silver bullet into the thing's head, rapidly followed by two rounds to the chest. It staggered backward, gasping a sick rattle, yet before it fell all the way it shook horribly and twisted, springing back up with an ear-splitting shriek, arms raised in fury. Lucas rolled onto his back and opened fire between his splayed knees, unloading all of his rounds into the monster. Its eyes flared yellow with each muzzle flash. The last round hit the creature's throat and it lunged at Lucas.

He never heard the glass break. Flames engulfed the creature, displaying a clear view of its mummy-like form. Lucas scrambled backward as it thrashed and screamed in agony, burning up like dry tinder. When its remains fell into a still, smoldering pile of stinking embers, Lucas saw Rachel standing behind it, dirty and bloody, her expression powerful beyond her years.

"It's called a wendigo," she said coolly. "And silver bullets," she paused to wipe the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, "Just piss it off."


	6. Chapter 6

Lucas saw the strobing reds and blues of emergency lights glittering through the black silhouettes of trees, and heard the muffled hum of voices as he and Rachel approached the last few yards of the trail. He paused.

"Hey," he called softly, needing answers before they were swept up in the commotion of forest rangers and first responders, the questions and cover stories.

Rachel stopped and turned slowly. On any other hunt she'd be long gone by now, but Lucas piqued her curiosity and caused her to linger.

"How did you know what it was? I mean really know. It could have been any number of things."

"The history of the trail was a dead give away. Lost party of hikers, cannibalism for survival? Bam! Wendigo." She spoke with such easy confidence, as if deducing the nature of the beast had been the simplest thing in world. He cocked his head, asking for more.

"When a human gets into cannibalism, and I don't mean just nibbling on a dead friend until help comes, but really digging in to hunt and consume other humans, it pollutes them in a way that opens them up to the wendigo, starvation spirits. We're talking prehistoric entities. Once the wendigo takes hold it anchors its human host in this world so they can never die and ravages them until there is nothing left but hunger and suffering. It can only be stopped with fire. It's more like ritual cleansing than killing. What I did back there was destroy the wendigo spirit and release the human soul its been riding for 40 years."

"Jesus," he said heavily. He had of course heard the name but not the lore. He was fascinated. He wanted to buy her a drink and talk all night, this mysterious girl who had saved his ass with a Molotov cocktail, but she was already turning to walk away.

"I thought it was a werewolf," he offered, not wanting to end their conversation. He was bright and intuitive, always eager to learn, and he suspected Rachel had a formidable body of knowledge to share. He also suspected she was about to vanish from his life like a dream in the morning light. "When I saw you watching the moon rise I, uh, thought it might be you."

Her laugh was soft and delightful. "I wasn't watching the moon, I was watching the treetops. Wendigo climb. They travel through the trees and attack from above. You really should read a book, Lucas."

"Well, there aren't a lot of books on monster hunting," he sighed, realizing he had blown his chance to keep her interested in talking.

Rachel stared at him once more like she could see through to his core, his soul, somehow gauging him. Damn but there was something different about him. She reached out for his hand in a rare gesture of trust. Lucas reached for her in return, wincing from the pain of having been dragged through the woods and slammed into rocks. Rachel took his hand in hers and continued down the trail with him close behind.

They emerged from the trailhead into the gravel parking lot to see the glow of the pre-dawn sky stretched above the circus of emergency vehicles. The US Forest Service rangers, state troopers, county search and rescue unit, and a rural ambulance were all at the scene. Rachel looked quickly around until she spotted Chloe, sitting safely in the back of the ambulance with her sister, wrapped in a silvery emergency blanket.

Lucas waved off an EMT as Rachel lead him across the parking lot, time seeming to slow down around her as she slipped through the pandemonium. He squeezed her hand subconsciously.

Rachel set her pack down in the cold gravel at the back of her car, the dusty 1970 Challenger, and turned to face Lucas, taking both his hands. She turned them over, looking at the rings he wore, one on each ring finger, though she strongly doubted he was married. His stomach fluttered as she softly ran her thumbs across his knuckles.

"Silver?" she asked, looking up at him with golden eyes.

"The right is pure silver. The left is iron."

She pursed her lips in thought. "Do you punch ghosts, Lucas?"

He shrugged lightly. "Sometimes, if you find yourself unarmed up against a vengeful spirit, a solid left hook can buy you enough time to get a salt ring down."

Rachel pulled Lucas close before releasing his hands to unlock the trunk. Lucas's eyes widened when she flipped on an LED light inside and began looking through a collection of weathered cardboard boxes and dusty milk crates, each crammed full of books, from yellowed old tomes to spiral notebooks, personal journals and sketchbooks, all carefully packed in a filing system only Rachel understood. As a kid she had started with the spiral notebooks, a familiar holdover from school and the days when life had been normal. Over the years she had worked up to larger, more mature notebooks, although in a pinch even stained diner napkins or seedy truck stop stationary would do for quick sketches or notes.

Lucas also observed a couple of battered old ammo cans, a large duffle that looked suspiciously like a weapons bag, a military-style field medic kit, and a hard rifle case.

"So you are a hunter," he said, leaning in for a closer look at her arsenal/library on wheels.

"No," she replied firmly with an undercurrent of disgust. "I'm no hunter."

"Then what's all this?"

"I'm just doing a job."

"Oh yeah?" His eyebrows raised, a grim tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What job is that?"

Rachel looked up at him and smirked. "Killin' evil sons of bitches," she replied before slapping a softbound journal to his chest. "Take this. It might save your ass."

Lucas thumbed through page after handwritten page, full of notes and detailed sketches of night-haunting things, including the wendigo. The value was not lost on him. He understood this was something very personal she had chosen to share, and could see from browsing how brilliant she was.

"You wrote this?" he asked, still studying its pages, though he knew her answer. "Take my number," he said suddenly, looking up from her journal as she locked up the trunk and tossed her pack on the front seat. "You wrote this, you researched and studied, and wrote this, and all of that," he pointed toward the trunk. "So I think you probably know more about monsters than most hunters out there. But if you ever need help with a haunting... that's what I do. And I'm very good at what I do. I'm the guy they call in when the salt and burn fails. Just in case. I mean, I owe you one."

(Music cue: Midnight Rider by The Allman Brothers Band)

Rachel almost wanted to stay another moment, to exchange numbers and talk about ghosts, but it was time to hit the road and though her heart was momentarily confused her mind was as sharp as her blade and her instinct to run was overpowering.

"Maybe some other time."

She climbed into the car and turned the key. It roared like a ravenous animal. Lucas watched helplessly as she pulled away.

"We ever gonna see each other again, Rachel?" He still clutched her book to his chest.

She smiled pure enigmatic sunshine at him. "If it's meant to be..."

Rachel cruised slowly out of the parking lot. Once she rolled out onto the road she gunned it, peeling out in a cloud of road dust and tire smoke, the throaty sound of the engine echoing for miles.

Lucas straddled his bike, holding his helmet in both hands. He gazed up at the pink and gold sky and sighed, "Dear God, please tell me it's meant to be."


End file.
